


Black Hole Son

by naity_sama



Category: Bleach
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Space, Canon-Typical Violence, Kemonomimi, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naity_sama/pseuds/naity_sama
Summary: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez - outlaw, unidentified alien species, and all around pain in the Federation of Soul Society's corrupt backside.Enter Kurosaki Ichigo, the Federation's hired hand and general golden boy - despite the fact that he's more of a glorified bounty hunter.





	1. First Impressions Count

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little bit of a space western/space pirates mashup. I'm pulling influence from about a dozen different scifi books and series. I'll be adding art as it becomes relevant to the story.

The rattle of a loosely bolted hand grip preceded the change in velocity as a small ship entered atmosphere, its beaten hull shuddering and squeezing under immense pressure. It's pilot rode the turbulence with a practiced hand, keeping the ship on a steady course towards the swirling darkness of the planet. With a pronounced buck and a sudden ease of friction, the craft slipped into the planet's obscuring layer of dense gases. Near blackness clung to the view ports, darkening all but the brightest of lights shining from the great surface domes below and recreating the effect of flying through open space. Aubergine was a hidden, perpetually dark chunk of rock orbiting a dying star just past the edge of Free space. Nothing grew on the surface but more rock, and only a decent occurrence of thermal activity made the planet useful at all. As it was, giant, steaming generators powered by the planet's heat provided light and breathable atmosphere to the domes. Brilliant bands of light ringed the docking bays, dimmed to a sickly glow by distance and smog.

“P6Xta, P6Xta, request?” A tinny, nasal voice hailed the craft, setting a red light blinking in the cockpit. A sharp claw tipped a switch over to open the channel, turning the light a steady green.

“This is Pantera, requesting permission to dock.” The pilot lounged in his seat, one hand guiding the ship into a loose curve as the other began making adjustments in preparation to land. He punched in a code on the display, sending a short burst of data to the control tower, listing his license, certifications and cargo manifest – the legal stuff, at least. After a moment for the transmission to be accepted, the confirmation of port entry flashed across the top of the screen.

“P6Xta, permission granted to land. Dock A94z will be cleared momentarily. Please follow the instruction sent.” A map popped up on the secondary monitor in the cockpit, highlighting a flightpath towards one of the smaller recessed domes on the surface, lit with purple.

The small ship lined itself up over the doors and waited until the signal. The dome split into two halves, opening up like a giant clam shell to swallow the ship as it sank into the planet. As the craft settled onto the waiting plate below, the doors rumbled back into place and the pressurization began. A rhythmic clicking started up as the plate began to tow itself towards the large bay doors to one side. A buzzer sounded, and the doors opened, the plate sliding along the track and carrying it's cargo to the assigned space. As the locks bolted into place, the pilot was up and moving, shutting down systems and turning on others. His claws skated over switches and buttons, setting up a custom security algorithm. When it pinged to the small display on his arm bracer, he moved on. After a few more minor adjustments and a review of systems, he grunted in satisfaction and grabbed the pack strapped to the back of his pilot's seat. With a quick shake of his head to shift his distinctive mane out of the way, the pilot slung the pack over one shoulder and disembarked.

As he stepped out onto the ramp, his grav boots clanged across the metal for two strides before acclimatizing and turning his steps silent. A gust of stale air blew his mane in a swirl of pale blue as he strode down onto the dock proper, the piercing ring of someone hammering out some kind of repair carrying right to his sensitive ears. They folded back tightly to his skull, long tufts of teal fur quivering at their tips with the abrupt motion. His eyes were bright cerulean and slit-pupiled, darting this way and that as he analyzed his surroundings. Aliens of every imaginable race clamored across the hangar, tending to ships and loading cargo. Their babble buzzed at a constant low roar, interspersed with louder cries and mechanical noises. If nothing else, Aubergine was a hub of trade activity. It was a perfect place for outlaws like himself to hide. There were plenty of less legit ways to enter the thriving trade centers of the planet, and with the proper technology, a ship could remain virtually undetectable on the planet's surface.

None of the others paid him any mind as he paced towards the Tube on the east side of the massive room. The press of a button and a few moments wait earned him the hissing of the doors of the tube as a transport pod whined to a stop in front of him. He stepped in and took a seat, keying in the stop he wanted on the armrest as he curled his tail into his lap. A tall humanoid stepped in behind him, its pale plume of hair brushing the ceiling of the pod as it made itself comfortable. The way its thin body and features were stretched out like pulled taffy was unsettling, as was the ever upwards curl of its mouth as it smiled at him. He let his eyes narrow and lip curl to show the point of a decidedly wicked fang, but the pale thing only smiled wider. Its own double row of serrated needle teeth set in waxy black gums only made the encounter that much more uncomfortable. They sat in awkward silence until his stop came up, and he quickly exited the pod. Despite he fact that he wasn't scared of anything, something about the creature made his fur stand on end.

It took a concentrated effort to smooth the fur down on his tail, but he appeared relaxed by the time he had followed the tunnels to his destination. A large metal door blocked off the end of the tunnel. There was only a keypad and a small data port to one side. This particular shop was invitation only, but luckily(or not), he had an invite. Clawed fingers fished around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small keycard. He grimaced at it for a moment before waving it over the keypad. A small light flashed for a moment before a hidden panel opened on the door. What crawled out could have been a type of rodent, once. It turned huge, lidless eyes eyes towards him and it dilated them almost fully before focusing in on his face and twitching its nose. A flickering tongue tasted the air before the creature retreated with a mechanical whir. A second later, locks could be heard disengaging as the door slid open.

The particular scent that struck him as he walked in the door always made his gut twist, but he wrinkled his nose and let the door lock behind him. Immediately to his left were the sound of footsteps, and he turned to face them.

“Grimmjow Jaegarjaquez. You are late.” Szyaelaporro Granz minced out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tube of bubbling liquid and pointed an accusing finger at Grimmjow's face. Grimmjow shook his mane of pale blue hair and curled a lip at the oddly bent purple digit nearly touching his pointed nose.

“You wanted it alive.” Grimmjow waved the spindly hand out of his face and shrugged the pack off of his shoulder. He held it out towards the scientist, who gestured instead to a table. With a grunt, Grimmjow carried the bag to the table and unzipped it. The oddly shaped box he pulled from inside sporadically twitched as he laid it on the table. Now, the scientist shoved his way forward to inspect it. Whatever knowledge the scientist gleaned from the flashing display on the containment device, Grimmjow didn't know, but Szyaelaporro was purring over it.

“Well?” Grimmjow demanded, warily watching the box jump across the table. “Is it what you wanted or not?”

“Oh yes, definitely. And in perfect condition. I'm honestly a little amazed you managed it. Of course, I did provide the materials to capture it.” Szyael preened, stroking his fingers through the pink strands of his hair. His dark lips stretched around a tiny smile as he studied his work. The containment device had kept the specimen alive and well from capture through arrival. Although, not without damage to everyone involved.

Grimmjow frowned down at the box, one clawed thumb stroking at a puckered scab on his furred forearm. The flesh hungry beastie he had been tasked to capture was exceedingly rare, and very dangerous. The fucker had taken more than one chunk out of him while he had managed to wrangle it into the box. It was smarter than it looked, and had realized the trap at the last moment. It had taken blood and sweat and possibly a single tear of frustration to capture the damned thing. But he had done it without harming it, and he had avoided shaking the box afterward, despite very much wanting to. Over a week of space travel later, the large wounds had healed to maybe the length of his thumb. He dropped his hand, but not fast enough to avoid notice.

Szyaelaporro snatched his injured arm in a clammy grip, jerking the limb so the wound was level with his golden eyes. Grimmjow pulled back, but wasn't foolish enough to yank his arm out of the scientist's grasp. Instead, he tightened his hand into a fist as the wound was studied.

“When did the bite occur? Upon capture? It was my new little specimen's fault, was it not? The healing seems quite advanced -” Grimmjow really didn't have to answer any of the the questions, so he simply nodded along when necessary. Szyaelaporro was happy enough to answer the majority of his own questions himself, dragging the tired outlaw further into the laboratory and shoving him down into a hard chair. The scientist's odd wings undulated happily behind his back as he ran his tests, and Grimmjow was content to let him so long as he didn't overstep any of their established boundaries. After all, the arm in question was some of Szyaelaporro's own work. He had lost the original when the Feds had killed his family. For a very hefty price, Szyaelaporro had grown him a new one, virtually indistinguishable from the original.

Eventually, Szyaelaporro finished taking notes and took a moment to apply a salve to the wounds. It would, he was reassured, have the wounds completely healed within a few hours. That task done and payment given, Grimmjow could finally get what he had come for. Szyaelaporro struck a pose with Grimmjow's newly altered weapon before surrendering it.

The sword's hilt was a pale silver with blue wrapping, a traditional style grip that belied the nature of the blade. Unactivated, the blade itself only appeared to be a short dirk with double edges. Once Grimmjow held it in his hand and opened himself to the weapon, however, it was a different story. Blue light poured forth as the true blade appeared, a glowing length of plasma energy as long as his arm and able to cut through almost anything cleanly. A little concentration dimmed the brightness of the blade to bearable levels while leaving it no less sharp. Satisfied, Grimmjow grunted his thanks and turned to leave. Szyaelaporro had already gone back to the captured specimen and Grimmjow wanted to be gone before it was turned loose.

\-------------

The weight of his blade back where it belonged at his hip was a welcome comfort to Grimmjow as he trudged through the belly of the Underground. On a planet where the night never ended, the nightlife was a riot. Vibrant signs flashed from the very ground people walked on to the ceilings up above, every angle plastered with ads and logos. Despite the number of lights, there still managed to be a perpetual darkness barely held at bay. And, it was surprisingly full of life. Lifeforms of every description made their way through the streets, heading this way and that at a seemingly frenetic pace. He kept to one side of the open space, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. A quick turn at a side tunnel and a foray through the “backstreets” brought him to The Shouten.

The inside was pleasantly warm, the long wooden counter gleaming under the recessed lighting. When he'd asked, the shopkeeper had said he'd modeled it after a quiet little place he knew on Terra. That still didn't explain the plastic plant in the corner, but whatever. There were a few other patrons parked at the bar and another few scattered amongst the tables. The Shouten really wasn't a bar or a restaurant, per se, but they did serve a good brew. That, and their soup was to die for. Grimmjow took a seat at the bar not far from the door, but where he could watch most of the room. The man himself was behind the counter today, waving his little fan in greeting as Grimmjow planted his ass on the stool.

“Grimmjow-saaaan~! The usual?” Urahara's eyes sparkled from under the brim of his stupid hat. The wily human was always up to something fishy, and Grimmjow had both benefited from and been burned by him in the past. Figuring out which way the scale was tipping before it happened, however, was nearly impossible.

“Yeah. We're celebratin' today,” Grimmjow tossed his pack on the counter and dug out a cred stick. He tossed it over and spun his stool a little to show off the sheathed blade hanging from his crossed belts. He didn't miss the sudden light in the shopkeeper's eyes as he leaned forward to inspect the weapon. The Shouten wasn't exactly a law-abiding establishment as its front would suggest. Besides being the #1 information broker in both Federation and Free space, Urahara dealt in weapons - with a lucrative side business in bio technology. Grimmjow would have gotten his upgrade at The Shouten if it wasn't for a lack of funds and the fact that he was still mad at Urahara for the shit he had pulled the last time Grimmjow had come in.

“Can I...?” Urahara asked, despite the fact that his grabby hands were already almost around the blade. Grimmjow slapped him away and hissed threateningly. Unfazed, Urahara held his hands up innocently, laughing it off and fetching a beer for both of them.

“I let you touch this blade and I'll probably never see it again,” Grimmjow grumped, thumping his shaggy elbows on the bar. Urahara didn't deny the accusation, merely sliding a mug over and wiping ineffectually at the wood with a rag. “And if I did, I wouldn't recognize it. You remember my blaster? I sure do. How long have you had it?”

“Ah, Grimmjow-san. It's almost finished. I won't even charge you full price,” Urahara tittered sheepishly, fan slipping out of his pocket to hide his face.

Grimmjow didn't believe a word. If he ever got it back, it'd be ten times better than when he had lost it, but the cost would be astronomical. He tipped the mug back and finished it in one long pull before smacking it on the counter. He was just opening his mouth to reply when he door slid open. The man who stepped into The Shouten was tallish, with a pinched frown and angry brows. He also had one of the most recognizable faces in at least three galaxies; he had light, tan colored skin as if he spent a lot of time on a planet with a good sun, an angular jaw with a full, pouting mouth, and intense amber eyes. Framing it all was about three feet of the most ridiculous hair ever, starting out a brilliant orange at the top and transitioning to black towards the ends. Kurosaki Ichigo was a household name – he was responsible for single-handedly destroying nearly a whole fleet of Federation ships when a Captain had gone rogue. He wasn't a member of the Federation himself, but they often hired him for cleanup. It put him squarely on Grimmjow's bad side, especially since Grimmjow's thing was fucking over the Feds.

“Kurosaki-dono! How good to see you!” Urahara's exultant greeting momentarily distracted the bounty hunter, giving Grimmjow time to reign in the irritated flicking of his tail. Kurosaki stormed up to the bar and tossed something at the shopkeeper, just missing smacking him in the face.

“Present from the old man. He says 'Hello.'” Kurosaki threw himself at the stool next to Grimmjow, slumping over the polished wood with all the grace of a sulking teenager. His hand came up in a demanding gesture until Urahara slid him a cold bottle of something that hissed when he opened it. It didn't smell like beer. Wrinkling his nose, Grimmjow turned his head to the side.

“Hey, you seen this guy? He's my latest job. Supposed to be one tough sonuvabitch,” Kurosaki drawled, fiddling with something on his arm.

Grimmjow glanced over, curious despite himself, and nearly choked on his own tongue. There, in 4D definition was a holographic projection of Grimmjow with his arm wound back, looking ready to hit something. The coloring was slightly off, but it was clearly his own face wrenched into an animalistic expression of deranged glee. A pin could have dropped in the sudden silence. Even Urahara didn't make a peep, only staring at the hologram with wide eyes. It was as if every eye in the bar was tuned to the same thing, waiting for Kurosaki to notice what was close enough to bite him. With glacial speed, Grimmjow's slitted gaze slid off of the projection of himself and onto Kurosaki.

“What?” Kurosaki sat up straighter, looking at Urahara questioningly. When the shopkeeper's eyes slowly tracked to the side, Ichigo's stare followed. Kurosaki's confused stare met shockingly blue slit pupiled eyes before he refocused and really saw who he was staring at - for about two stunned seconds, right before a clawed fist came flying at his face.


	2. Kidnap A Local

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes out to @Jacket Potato for beta.

Ichigo's arm came up to block at the last second, the momentum behind the blow knocking him backwards off his stool and just about onto the floor. If he'd taken it to the face as intended, it might have knocked him out cold. As it was, it left a jagged streak of pain traveling up his arm and numbness tingling through his fingers. He stumbled to his feet, adrenaline eating through the shock and replacing it with fury. Within seconds, nanites were pouring from the ports in his right arm and covering the limb in armored plate. The flow of metal continued up his chest to form a mask over the lower half of his face, and down to his fingers, where it manifested as a cleaver that nearly matched his height for length. In close quarters, the Shikai blade wasn't an optimal weapon - but, it **_was_** a satisfying one. As it formed instantaneously, the sharp tip sliced through the leg of he stool he had been sitting on, sending it crashing to the ground. It left a groove along the front of the counter as he swung it around, much to Urahara's squawking despair.

 

His target was already on the move, tearing towards the door with a pack in hand. The humanoid's boots were scrabbling on the slick floor, and it'd be moments before Ichigo caught up. One of The Shouten's other patrons chose that exact moment to step too close to the fray. A clawed hand swiped out and grabbed them by the tunic, throwing them into Ichigo's path and costing him several seconds as he dodged. The stupid potted plant was next, Ichigo's blade slicing it in half as he regained his footing. He looked up, just in time to see a flash of flowing blue hair as it whipped around the frame of the open door. 

 

“Sorry!” Ichigo shouted over his shoulder to Urahara, who was already picking at the ruins of his business. He threw his blade over one shoulder and took off in hot pursuit. In the open tunnels, his quarry had the advantage. The outlaw's longer legs and unique musculature lent him a speed that was superhuman, and his enhanced senses upped his reaction time exponentially. It was all Ichigo could do to keep his black-tufted tail in sight. Once they hit the crowded streets, however, Ichigo lost him within moments. He slowed to a stop, panting against the wall of a food stall as he reevaluated his options. The best course of action wasn't running headlong after the guy. Been there, done that - what a disaster.

 

Ichigo brought his cell out and pulled up the information he had been given on the target. The physical description was on point and matched the pictures given; Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was a tall, leanly muscled humanoid of unknown race. His entire body was covered in a fine layer of creamy pale fur, longer on the forearms. His large, tufted ears seemed to point mostly backwards, with a bright splash of teal fur across the tops and trailing to the corners of his slit pupiled eyes. Their undersides blended into a mane of bright blue hair that hung to his waist, its jaunty forelock spilling loosely in front of his face. The fingers were sharply clawed, the hands a darker color than the rest of him, almost black. The facial features were more refined than that of the average Human, but otherwise unremarkable until he opened his mouth. The very inside edges of his lips were black where they were peeled back against his teeth; his very sharp, very much non-human teeth. The alien's mouth was full of jagged edges, the large canines in particular giving his crazed grin a razor quality. He wore a one-piece jumper open to mid-stomach, black, with the sleeves torn off and a slit cut in the back for his black-tipped tail. 

 

Personally, Ichigo thought he looked like someone had taken a house cat on steroids and bred it with a Human. Maybe a lion or a panther, but those had been extinct on Terra for over a hundred years. Whatever he was, either the Soul Society didn't have it on record, or he was the product of gene tampering. The list of things he was being charged for, however, was what had Ichigo raising a brow. It was a veritable laundry list, mostly consisting of attacks on the Soul Society and its holdings. At the top of the list, in bold red characters was “Heinous Acts”. When he caught the guy, he'd have to ask for details. He kept scrolling until he found what he was looking for. The guy flew a modified P6Xta fighter. It was likely docked nearby, and without a doubt the best route for escape. If Ichigo hurried, he could catch him before he made it to the surface.

 

With a plan worked out, Ichigo let his sword and armor dissipate and took off running for the express transporter. One of the few benefits of working with Soul Society was the Soul-Pass that let him cut through the regular red tape society was confined to. If he wanted, he could travel in style. He swiped the badge in front of the door panel, and it opened. He selected coordinates for the nearest ship hangar and grimaced at the sensation. When the door opened, he was on the second level of the hangar and could immediately see that he had miscalculated. The ship in question was rising in the hangar, sending people running for cover as the thrusters burned their way to a stable height. Ichigo knew he wouldn't be able to catch it on foot, especially if no one thought to lock down all of the bay doors. The P6Xta was already headed for one of the larger freight tunnels, clearly intending to bypass the regular airlock system entirely. Cursing, Ichigo threw himself over the rail and came up at a dead sprint for his own ship. 

 

Ichigo's Zangetsu wasn't anywhere near as small as the tiny fighter, but he was its only crew and it had already been prepped for takeoff. He had only made a quick pit stop with the intention to fuel up and visit a family friend for a few hours (and hopefully milk a little information out of him). As soon as he cleared the ramp, he slapped the manual retract switch and dashed for the cockpit. Luckily, he had left everything online and it only took a moment to fire up the engines. As they roared to life, he broadcast a message to the entire station to clear the area and punched it. His ship dragged across the hanger for a dozen yards before picking itself up and following his target, scorch marks in its wake. The fighter was just tearing through the atmospheric force field of the freight hold when he caught up, and he plunged after it with abandon. Everything lurched as he passed the barrier, but he pressed himself back into the seat and tried to get his bearings. 

 

Everything was blackness and smudged lights. Something about the chemical makeup of the atmosphere tended to fudge ship sensors. Even with Urahara's specially designed sensors, the accuracy was only so-so. He could tell that his target was somewhere to the right, but he couldn't get a bead on it.  If he could establish an exact location for a few seconds he could fine tune the device and keep track of the ship despite the swirl of dark gases. Ichigo set himself facing the general direction that his sensors were reading and waited. It was a crap shot, but maybe he would ping something before it moved out of range or he'd have to start following it. Lady luck herself must have been on Ichigo's side, because the next gust of steam from one of the generators cleared the dense fog just enough for him to see a dark shadow passing over a distant light. Like a shot, he was off, using the single instant he had seen the ship to gauge distance and speed. As he gained ground, the display bleeped out a confirmation that it had Jaegerjaquez in its sights and Ichigo was able to get a lock on him. Now, so long as he didn't let him get too far, the outlaw wouldn't be able to shake him.

 

It didn't take long for Jaegerjaquez to realize he was being tailed. The fighter shot a stream of fire at him before ducking low around an outcrop of rock. Flying low here was risky business. One false read on the proximity sensor and you could kiss your ass goodbye. Ichigo guided Zangetsu up and over the obstacle, desperately trying to keep track of the dancing dot on the screen. And dance it did. No amount of calibration could keep an exact read on a ship in this atmosphere when it was flying like  _ that.  _ The small craft was darting and rolling through the blanketed asteroid bitten surface of the uninhabited side of the planet like a fish through water, always turning away from danger at the last possible instant. Anytime it made it high enough off the ground to try, it took potshots at Ichigo's ship. Ichigo couldn't even line up a shot against such an impressive display. Being not nearly as maneuverable, Ichigo kept himself positioned as best he could to follow any sudden turns and kept as tight as he could. The smaller craft was quickly running out of good places to hide as they reached the smoother plains, so it was only a matter of time before Jaegerjaquez either made a break for it or turned to fight.

 

When Jaegerjaquez did make that decision, Ichigo almost wasn't prepared for it. The fighter slingshot itself around a curve and up, straight for Ichigo's position. It's weapons opened fire in a direct assault before turning aside to circle back from another direction. Now that Jaegerjaquez had chosen to fight, he wasn't messing around. Zangetsu's screens blared warnings about shield integrity after each shot landed as Ichigo grit his teeth and concentrated. Finally, the right moment came and he fired. Just as Jaegerjaquez was beginning to curve around a cracked pile of stone, as Ichigo had predicted he would, Ichigo's shot landed. It didn't hit Jaegerjaquez's ship – instead, it hit right where Ichigo had aimed, crumbling a tall spire of rock right into the path of the fighter. In the eddying darkness, and with too much momentum to dodge, boulders rained down on Jaegerjaquez. The small ship made a good show of evading the largest and most threatening missiles. Still, it took a pounding. Jaegerjaquez lost control of his craft, the hull bouncing along the planet's surface before skidding to stop. The cloud of dust only mixed into the pervading gloom. 

 

Zangetsu's sensors were able to read the ship much more clearly now that it was still. Almost all of the weapons were damaged, and the few that weren't were on the side of the ship facing away. It wasn't going to be moving without some serious repairs. Surprisingly, the hull didn't seem to be breached. If he had survived the rough landing intact, as the life signs seemed to indicate, Jaegerjaquez was still alive. His orders were to capture, but if not possible - to kill. With too many lives on his conscious already, Ichigo generally tried to go with the first option as often as possible. Luckily, Urahara was fond of outfitting Ichigo and his ship with cool new technology. It was something of a hobby, he claimed. What Ichigo used now wasn't exactly a tractor beam, lacking both the pulling range and power of a larger ship. Whatever it was, though, let Ichigo load the entire fighter into his cargo bay with only a little bit of trouble. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to get it in in one piece. 

 

The life signs detector was still reading one person in the fighter, but it remained unmoving and consistent. Jaegerjaquez was likely unconscious. Still, Ichigo approached with caution upon entering. It didn't take him long to find him, sprawled limply in the pilot's seat and only held upright by the chest straps. He didn't have any visible blood besides a few cuts on his palm where he had likely gotten himself with his own claws. It was a short order of business to administer a dose of sedative and unhook the guy from his seat. It was another matter entirely trying to get him out. Despite being lean,  Jaegerjaquez was taller than Ichigo. His body also seemed to be a lot denser, meaning he was fucking heavy. It was awkward and more than uncomfortable, but he managed to get a good grip on the guy to carry his slack body. He ended up with the guy tossed over his shoulder, his mane dragging the floor behind him and one hand on his ass to hold him in place. The furry tail brushing against his wrist was just weird. 

 

Muttering under his breath, Ichigo lumbered his way to the spare bedroom on his ship. He kept it empty for just this reason, only a futon on the bare floor and nothing else in the room to be used as a weapon. He dropped  Jaegerjaquez's body onto the futon none too gently and set about securing him. It was quickly apparent that Jaegerjaquez was armed to the teeth - literally. He pulled no less than a dozen weapons off of him. That task complete, he gave the alien a quick once over with a med scanner. His brain had been a little rattled in the crash - the only apparent cause for the unconsciousness. A quick unit of anti-inflammatory drugs and something to promote healing would take care of that given a little time. With his “guest” settled, Ichigo locked the door and headed for the cockpit. Once he cleared Aubergine's atmosphere he could wake the ship's AI and let it auto-pilot to his next stop. 

 

Leaving the planet was easy enough, after he explained to their command what exactly all the commotion was about. Thankfully, the destruction to the hangar was minimal and no bystanders had been harmed. Ichigo had no intentions of sticking around to visit Urahara any longer after the shopkeeper had sent him a bill for damages that he fully intended to ignore. Breaking out of the darkness was like a breath of fresh air. Distant stars glimmered throughout open space - a familiar void. Finally able to relax, Ichigo settled into his captains chair and entered a code on the main console. Every display flashed red for a moment before straightening out with the crackle of the overhead comm unit. 

 

“Asshole!” shrieked the ship’s computer, clearly upset at being silenced for so long. The watery voice reverberated back and forth through the small cabin as its tirade grew in pitch until Ichigo had to plug his ears with his fingers. He waited it out with a put upon expression. The tantrums never lasted long, but they were often violent. Zangetsu had been a gift from Urahara at a time when the man had been (illegally) working with creating artificial intelligence. The problem was, Zangetsu's intelligence was not  _ entirely _ artificial. A successful experiment in transferring organic consciousnesses into data had become a failed experiment when Urahara had fused two human minds and uploaded them into what was basically a living spaceship. They had been scanned into data with personalities and habits and thought processes intact and true to their original living minds. Since the “conscious” mind was formed exactly like the organic mind, the ship actively had a personality of its own; it had feelings and emotion, thoughts and dreams. 

 

The only major problem with the entire ordeal, besides being completely illegal, was that one of the minds used in making the ship was a fucking  _ serial killer.  _ A very angry serial killer, who was admittedly justifiably  _ furious _ about his new lot in life. It took nearly ten minutes of screeching before Zangetsu took a virtual breath. Very carefully, Ichigo pulled his fingers out of his ears and waited to see if it was actually done. If that part of Zangetsu wasn't yelling, it was usually pouting, and that meant it wouldn't talk to him at all. On a really lucky day, the ship was perfectly reasonable and a decent conversationalist. The two minds had never properly meshed into one definite consciousness, and it was never more apparent than the rare occasions when its other half was dominant. The continued silence meant pouting. 

 

“I'm going to take a nap. I need you to plot and follow a course to Chad's place. Make it as direct as possible while keeping away from anything dangerous. I'm a lot ahead of schedule and I've got some time to kill. No funny stuff, either. We're avoiding obstacles today, okay?” Ichigo spoke out loud, not expecting an answer. Zangetsu had no choice but to follow Ichigo's orders, although it was good at finding loopholes. A large part of the “failure” in making Zangetsu was that Urahara's Laws of Robotics were liquid in order to conform to any possible situation. Zangetsu couldn't outright kill him, but it liked to try. “And don't fake any turbulence, for fucks sake.” He waited until the ship selected a course, giving it a once-over for any obvious tricks before locking it in himself. With both his ship and prisoner secured, Ichigo trudged to his bunk and settled in for a nap. 

 

xxxxxxxxxxx

– POV Change Zangetsu

 

After King was completely asleep and his life signs read that he had entered REM sleep cycle, Shirosaki turned part of his attention away from their course. There was someone else on the ship, and it definitely wasn't one of the human's friends. He let his “senses” focus on the new presence, feeling out their restless body with electromagnetic pulses and tasting it through the ventilation system. The light and visual sensors in every room let him see it from every direction at once. He shuffled through the on-board data until he had the right file. Perfect. This one would do. Shirosaki couldn't do anything about the cuffs, but he could do other things. 

 

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As Grimmjow woke from his drugged slumber and sat up in the empty room, he noticed something. The door lock was open.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note: Ichigo keeps a handwritten log of what constitutes as “Funny Stuff” for Zangetsu. It grows longer every day. It consists of gems like:
> 
> Flying so slowly it doesn't count as flying
> 
> Aiming a course that will collide with an asteroid
> 
> Sending out distress signals in enemy territory
> 
> Sending out transmissions consisting of insults and rude language in order to start a fight in enemy territory or Soul Society territory 
> 
> Speaking only in binary code


	3. Dastardly Housekeeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little late in coming, but I got a little stuck trying to pick a direction.

Everything was quiet - it was the first thing Grimmjow noticed as he started to wake. The next was that his arms were numb where they were bound behind him. His eyelids were unnaturally heavy and he had to blink several times before he could focus on anything. The room was stark white and bare, uncomfortably bright for his sensitive eyes. He swayed a little as he sat up onto his knees, both from the muffled pain in the back of his skull and the leaden weight of his limbs. A better look around showed more of the same nothing, a thin futon, and a closed door. He had just started to contort his body to get a better look look at the shackles on his ankles when he noticed it: the door lock was green. That meant he could open it. Suddenly, escape became a much more exciting prospect. He twisted from side to the side and got a good look at what he was working with. The wrist cuffs he was outfitted with were good ones, unable to be picked or opened without both the correct code and some kind of biometric component. The ankle cuffs, however, were the manual kind that used a key - Old World technology at its finest. Things were looking decidedly upwards.

 

He started out by rolling his joints, letting his sore muscles warm up and stretch. Who knew how long he'd been out for, but it felt like it'd been a few hours, at least. Once it felt like his arms and legs were attached to him again, he began working on his escape. One of his best physical traits was that he was unusually limber. Flexibility was a huge plus, both in the sack and in situations like these. It wouldn't be the first time that bending in an unusual way saved his life. If he'd been Human, trying to push his ass through the small space between his arms could have seriously injured him. As it was, it was uncomfortable and slow, but he managed. Once he had his cuffed wrists up under his thighs, it really started to burn. He ignored it, mentally thanking Kurosaki for having removed his heavy grav boots. It made the next part possible. His bare feet were longer and more slender than that of a Human's; they also had a greater range of motion in the ankle.

 

He carefully balanced himself on the flat place just above his tail, and brought his thighs as tight to his chest as possible. It gave him the room he needed to push his tightly bound wrists out away from his thighs. Now, when he folded his knees and pointed his clawed toes straight down, he was able to tuck them down into the gap and begin working his legs through. His wrists and shoulders were aching by the time he managed to get his arms free, but it was worth it. A few quick twists of his claws and he tossed the ankle cuffs to one side. He rolled his shoulders and popped his spine before stiffly getting to his feet. He pressed one long, furred ear to the door and listened intently. The dampeners on Kurosaki's ship must have been top notch, because the hum of the engines was nearly silent. He could barely feel the faintest of vibrations through the floor on the sensitive skin of his toe pads. After a long wait without any change in sound, he cautiously activated the door mechanism. It slid open with the slightest stir of displaced air, not disturbing the silence.

 

Grimmjow peered out around the door frame, listening for a long moment in either direction before padding through. There was an airlock door to his right, it's panel displaying a bright red lock icon on the screen. It likely lead to the cargo bay. There was another door directly across from him, and another just a little farther down on the left from that one. The one that dead-ended the corridor to his left was likely the cockpit or living area of the ship. That's where he would find Kurosaki. He tried the door directly across from him first. It turned out to be a small bathroom. A quick search of the room turned up nothing that could be used as a weapon. He left and tiptoed to the next door. And nearly shat himself when it opened. He caught himself against the far wall of the hallway when he backpedaled, barely avoiding stumbling in his haste at the sight of Kurosaki. 

 

It only took him a few breaths to realize that Kurosaki was deeply asleep when the form on the bed failed to move. Grimmjow darted forwards, keeping himself in the doorway to block the door from sliding shut as he observed his surroundings. The room was fairly tidy, only a rumpled shirt and jacket tossed over a chair and the boots at the edge of the futon providing disarray. There also weren't any weapons in sight. Kurosaki himself was sleeping like a baby, lying on his back with his legs sprawled wide and a bare arm over his eyes. His mouth was wide open, a line of drool slowly trickling its way down his cheek as he breathed deeply. At some point he had kicked the sheet away - it was only hanging on the bed where it was wrapped around a foot. Kurosaki was shirtless, his lean muscle outlined by the hard shadows of the dark room. The parts of his body Grimmjow could see were patterned with scars, old and new alike. Kurosaki was completely defenseless.

 

In three long strides, Grimmjow was at the bed. His arms stretched out in front of him, he spread his clawed hands as far as they would go and dove for Kurosaki's throat, intent on choking the life out of him. The moment his knees kissed the bed, Kurosaki's body tensed, but it was too late – Grimmjow's hands were wrapped around his throat and squeezing. Amber eyes snapped open, whites rolling as Kurosaki jerked awake and clawed at the hands strangling his neck. Grimmjow only laughed and pressed down harder. At least, until a leg came up and knocked him sideways. Kurosaki rolled them off of the futon and onto the floor, giving up on clawing at Grimmjow's hands to stab at his eyes instead. When that failed, Kurosaki grabbed a hank of hair and bodily pulled Grimmjow up. Kurosaki's face was turning an alarming shade of red, but the angle from the cuffs and Kurosaki's movement kept him from crushing his windpipe completely. 

 

Grimmjow squirmed as Kurosaki kneed him in the gut repeatedly, his hands twitching with each impact. He growled through gritted teeth and held on, determined to come out on top. Kurosaki seemed to freeze for a moment, and Grimmjow took the opportunity to correct his grip. Then, between one second and the next, armor was flowing over the upper half of Kurosaki's body. It solidified over his form, squeezing under Grimmjow's hands and loosening his grip on bruised flesh. He felt Kurosaki take a deep gasping breath and changed tactics, throwing himself backwards and scrambling upright. With his arms bound and Kurosaki on the move, Grimmjow lost any advantage. That became even more clear when Kurosaki materialized a set of blades and took a stance. At some point the door had closed, and Kurosaki now shouted a command to lock it. His voice, even muffled by the mask he wore over his mouth, was guttural and scratchy. 

 

Kurosaki's eyes took him in, tracking each miniscule movement with alarming speed. His blades hovered in an easy grip, the thin sword out in front and the long dagger closer to his side. Grimmjow kept near the wall, his knees bent slightly so he could dart in either direction. When Kurosaki lunged, Grimmjow dashed to the side, trying to get behind him. The room was small however, and Kurosaki was fast. The blade whipped just over Grimmjow's head as he dove into a roll and popped up running. He was far more flexible in the small space, but there were only so many places he could run. Kurosaki pulled one of his own tricks, likely inspired, and threw the chair in his path. The ceiling was too low to jump over it and Grimmjow wound up tripping over it when Kurosaki dashed in from the side to block him. He went down hard, one knee cracking into the floor panels and pitched flat on his face. He tried to roll back upright, but Kurosaki caught him, the crook of an elbow gripping the back of his head and pulling him tight against Kurosaki's chest. Something small and hard hit him in the back of the neck and everything went black.

  
  


XXXXXXXX

 

The second time Grimmjow awoke on Kurosaki's ship, he was worse for wear. His eye smarted where Kurosaki had gotten in a glancing blow and his stomach was tender and bruised. He could feel intimately where his shin had barked against the chair and his knee protested strongly when he tried to move it. The back of his neck  _ burned.  _ This time, he was bound to a seat. His arms were bound to the back of the chair and his feet were individually secured somewhere near the floor. There was no possible way he was going to slip free from this arrangement. He was in the cockpit, seated on the co-pilot's chair, with it pushed back and locked in its furthest position from the control panels. He was turned to one side, directly facing the man in the Captain's chair. Kurosaki's face was pulled into a positively sour scowl, like he had sucked on a graac fruit, as he studied his prisoner. Grimmjow scowled back, baring his fangs and vibrating his tail so rapidly with impotent rage that the brush on the end rustled audibly. 

 

“Zangetsu, I thought I said no funny stuff.” Kurosaki rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as he spoke, glaring into thin air. Grimmjow was perplexed.

 

“List doesn't say shit about releasing prisoners, King,” a distorted voice drawled from every direction at once, both perfectly bored and suspiciously smug in tone. Grimmjow craned his head around, looking for the source of the voice. There was nobody else in the room. It had to be coming from the ship's speakers.

 

“Besides, I didn't even do that. He let himself out. Blame him.” 

 

“The fuck are you sayin'??” Grimmjow snapped, straightening as much as he could in the seat, ears quivering with anger. “You can't blame me for shit!” 

 

Kurosaki sighed loudly as hollow laughter bubbled up and echoed around the cabin, slumping back into the captain's chair with an exasperated air. 

 

“Mute, Zangetsu. You're both in trouble,” Kurosaki intoned tiredly, rubbing at his bruised neck and wincing at Grimmjow. The laughter still seemed to reverberate off the walls, despite having ended suddenly. “Did you forget you tried to strangle me? Or did it already slip your tiny mind?”

 

“Who are you saying has a tiny mind, you fucking Fed?” Grimmjow bit out. “When I get out, I'm going to fucking kill you!”

 

“Oh, like you already did?” Kurosaki patted at his body disbelievingly, sarcastically wide eyes fixing back on Grimmjow when he was done with his childish display. “Yeah, I'm still alive. You tried. Gold star for effort, though. It took three doses of meds before I could talk again.” Kurosaki ignored Grimmjow's snarling and leaned over to the wall and pulled out a marker; the Traditional kind, with a felt tip and ink inside. He doodled a little angry devil face next to a row of progressively angrier looking smileys on a chart labeled “Behavior Chart” before writing “Playing any part in prisoner escapes” at the end of a long list. It was marked number 107, Grimmjow's sharp eyes noted. 

 

“Aiding and abetting prisoners is Funny Stuff, Zan. Don't do it again.” On the main console screen, a pixelated image of a hand with a middle finger raised blinked into existence. Kurosaki flipped it off and looked to his prisoner. Suddenly, he was all business. All traces of amusement were wiped off his face as he steeled his jaw and glared at Grimmjow. 

 

“First of all, I am NOT a Fed. I freelance. There's a difference,” Kurosaki stated as he pulled up a file on a glowing holoscreen. “I don't necessarily support the Federation.”

 

“Beg to fucking disagree,” Grimmjow curled his lip in distaste. “You take their money and shoot when they say shoot.”

 

“Only sometimes,” Kurosaki grunted, hands flicking over the holoscreen. Blue light limned his frowning features as he searched for the right page. His brow smoothed out when he found what he was looking for and grabbed the “edge” of the screen to drag it to face his captive better. It was a detailed record of Grimmjow's history with the Soul Society. There had to be over twenty major transgressions, each with its own supporting cast of petty crimes. All grouped together like that, it was kind of impressive, really; a proper rap sheet. “I didn't actually manage to shoot you, did I?” Grimmjow's eye twitched, but he wasn't willing to justify that with an answer. 

 

“Ya'know, I haven't even had a chance to read this stuff. You just kind of fell into my lap and ruined my evening. Good for the career, though.” Kurosaki seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice a little too much for Grimmjow's liking. He wouldn't shut up as he scrolled through the list. “Did you really take out a Bankai class cruiser? Crazy. But what I'm  _ DYING _ to know is what the hell 'Heinous Acts' means.” In a sudden movement, Kurosaki was practically perched on the edge of his seat, eyes comically wide with childish curiosity as he leaned through the holoscreen and dangerously into Grimmjow's space. 

 

“'The fuck is this, fucking story time?” Grimmjow growled disbelievingly, snapping his teeth at the others face. Bastard didn't even flinch. “Fucker.” Grimmjow settled back in his chair mulishly, but Kurosaki only continued to blink disarmingly. As an intimidation tactic? 0/10, a wet kitten would be more threatening. The Annoyance Factor? Over 9000. Grimmjow had an inkling the little shit could keep it up for hours. 

 

“I pissed in Aizen's goddamned cheerios,” Grimmjow huffed out. “Literally. Contaminated the entire fuckin' water supply, added a little of my own for good measure. Might have flashed them during my daring escape, accidentally-on-purpose-like.” By the end, Grimmjow's mouth was decidedly crooked up into a rakish grin. The whole thing was a bit of a point of pride for him, especially since he had escaped by just the skin of his teeth. But  _ what an escape _ . The look on the stodgy old bastards faces as he cut the hailing frequency had been priceless. 

 

“Cereal flasher,” Kurosaki let out a guffaw of delighted laughter and wiped at his cheek as he sat back. Grimmjow scowled at him for ruining his moment. “But seriously, not what I was expecting. Why, though?”

 

Grimmjow stared long and hard at Kurosaki, until the other man's smile had firmed back into a serious expression. He searched the man's face for anything he could use. Kurosaki was a bounty hunter and  an employee of Soul Society; he literally had Grimmjow tied to a chair. He spent his life and career protecting the Feds interests and arresting people who opposed them. Grimmjow didn't trust him any further than he could throw him, but a little tickle of gut instinct said 'tell the truth'.

 

Grimmjow's slit pupils widened as he cast his gaze out the front view port, dancing from star to distant star as he thought. He ignored Kurosaki flicking away the holoscreen as he mulled over the words he wanted to say. Grimmjow wasn't one to think through what he was saying before it came spilling out his lips, but this felt important. Finally, he locked eyes with Kurosaki.

 

“Souske Aizen murdered my family in cold blood, but nobody believes me.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
